Number Crunching

t's a battle I never seem to be on the right side of.

Last spring I mentioned, on several occasions, my frustration with kids who insist on memorizing their student I.D. numbers and entering them on the keypad instead of having their debit cards ready to scan.

Earlier this fall, I expounded on the troubles caused by the temporary paper debit cards issued to the students pending the arrival of their permanent, hard plastic cards.

Because those little paper cards almost NEVER scanned properly, I was having to look up students manually as they came through. Ask kid "What's your name?", hit 'Account', then 'Name Lookup', enter a few letters of the name, and select the proper result from the list. Sounds like a lot, but I can actually do this very quickly, having spent my entire adult life in clerical and transcription jobs. However, my supervisor insisted that this was slowing down the line and that I needed to get on the kids' cases to...memorize their I.D. numbers and type them in when they come through. This annoyed me to no end, for two reasons:

1. This is exactly what I spent three months trying to discourage last year, because kids so frequently screw up typing their numbers in, which actually slows down the process; and

2. It's a new school year, meaning that half the school body consists of recently elementary school kids who don't know their numbers. Each time kids came through with their defective cards and no knowledge of their ID numbers, I'd have to look them up manually anyway, THEN stop to write down their six-digit number on a scrap of paper, give them the paper and lecture them on getting it memorized. As you can imagine, this really did nothing to improve checkout speeds. Fifth graders are distractible, and have an unsurprising tendency to lose small pieces of paper.

"C'mon," I'd urge them, on the third or fourth day that I rewrote their numbers for them. "It's shorter than your phone number. You can memorize your phone number."

And so it went on. Honestly, I didn't mind pulling them up by names - as I say, I'm very quick with the system, it gives me a chance to start memorizing their names, and it's actually slower for me to stop and remind them all. Mainly I continued nagging because when I'm perceived as being too indulgent with the kids, I occasionally find myself relegated to serving so that my supervisor can run register herself and scold the kids herself in her own, much sterner way.

After several weeks, the new plastic debit cards did indeed arrive. I'd say not a moment too soon - at this point 98 percent of the paper cards had been lost, thrown away with lunch trays, laundered, folded, smeared, or otherwise made to barely resemble a scrap of paper that barely resembled an identification card - but since they had never really worked anyway, having the kids continue to bring them really served no purpose other than to enforce the habit of carrying one.

But now, they had shiny new cards that they were, for the first time in their young lives, required to carry at all times, identification and meal card all in one. But you know what? By this time they were starting to catch on to the keypad system, and many had finally learned their numbers. And many felt that this was simply waaaay less hassle than actually remembering to bring their cards and have them in hand at time of checkout.

Enter my supervisor, who tells me that I'm being too soft on the kids and that I really need to get the kids' cases to...stop typing their numbers and start bringing their cards. Her main concern now - when they mistype their numbers, there's a chance they may actually pull up another student's account, increasing the risk that the wrong student may be charged (unlikely - I always check the photo and name against the student in front of me).

Try explaining this to a fifth grader.

Me: I know it's hard to remember your card. But what if you type the wrong number and someone else ends up paying for your lunch?

Kid: Sounds good to me!

Me: Oh-kaaay...what if some other kid types the wrong number and you pay for HIS lunch?

Kid: Uhhhhh....I wouldn't like that. But I can type in the right number!

So, mystery solved. Having entered this profession near the end of a school year last year, I often wondered why we have such a battle over debit cards vs. keypad entry. Now I realize that it's because we spend the first month of school training them to do this.

Next, please!

Chess Nuts Boasting in an Open Foyer

So, apart from being handsome, funny, sweet, and bringing home all A's and B's this year, my little Duncan Disorderly is rapidly becoming quite the little chess whiz! Last weekend he participated in his second chess tournament ever...and came home with a third place trophy!

Being a chess mom is a somewhat unique position, differing from having kids in soccer, or band, or school plays. There are the practices, sure. But unlike their swim meets or band concerts, a chess tournament is an all-day commitment that we don't even get to watch. Parents come to play the Waiting Game. You sign your kid in, and when his first match-up is listed, you take him to the big hall filled with chess boards and nervous children, wish him luck, and return to the lobby to fidget and fret with the other parents, ready to either console or congratulate when that little guy finally comes through those double doors and his face tells you everything you need to know. Then the list of second round match-ups gets tacked to the wall and it all starts again.

Duncan's first tournament went better than I expected and rather ideally, I thought. Knowing my little guy's level of confidence, I really did hope that he would do not so well as to set up unreasonable expectations for future competitions, but well enough that he was not immediately discouraged from the whole tournament scene. Out of five rounds, he won three and lost two, coming in at ninth place in the final standings. Wouldn't you know - they gave trophies through eighth place, which disappointed him. But he got a feel for tournament play, a participation medal, and a taste for the competition. On the way home he told me with a smile, "I'm going to practice more for the next tournament...and I'm going to win."

And practice he did. When his own chess club hosted a tournament here in town last week, he cracked open his chess strategy workbook. And played his dad. And played my brother online. And when the Big Day came, hooo boy, was he excited.

The tournament began much as the last one had. In the first round, he was creamed by an older kid in a very short game and came back with shining eyes. I opened my arms to him and promptly received a hug that nearly broke my heart. There are hugs they give you in passing when they're happy, and there are hugs that you can just feel the need in. He melted into my arms and stayed there a long time, occasionally tightening his grip around my neck. I held on just as long as he needed me to...but when he broke off the embrace it was with a bit of an embarrassed look and an "Okay, Mom, you don't need to hug me so long!"

A few helpings of pizza and pep-talk later, he went into his second round feeling refreshed...and won it. And the next round. And the next round.

Going into the last round (the tournament was Swiss style, with five rounds and no elimination), the boy was fourth in the standings. Trophies were only given to third this time, so I knew the last round was do-or-die. Lose the round, and he would be coming home with nothing but the knowledge that he had again played rather well and been an outstanding sport. Win the round, and there was a good chance he'd be coming home with his very first trophy. And so off my little third grader went, paired off with an older kid, a sixth grader (whom I know from my lunch line, no less!) who Duncan had told me usually beat him at chess club meetings.

Folks, such butterflies I had! All through the tournament I had been proud of him. He'd made an impressive showing, playing chess better than I ever will, and through it all he'd been a good sport win or lose. I knew it would be all right if he lost....but wouldn't it be great if he won?

It was a long battle...in the end they were the second-to-last pairing to emerge. Duncan's face was inscrutable as he and his opponent wound their way over to the tournament director, who was equally inscrutable as he scribbled down the results of their game. Finally my little man looked in my direction and flashed me a smile, and my heart soared.

So there it is. Sitting on Duncan's bookshelf now is a shiny trophy, and sitting right here is one proud mom.

(Disclaimer: As much as I would like to take credit for the horribly punny title of this post, it comes from an old joke. Alas, I must keep my ego in check. Good knight, all!)

With Friends Like These

You know...those lunchladies are a mischievous bunch.

I live in one of those.....*shudder*....football towns. College football takes over the minds, car windshields, and wardrobes of nearly the entire population starting in the fall. Personally, I hate football, but it's not a fact I tend to advertise. 'Round here, it's a bit like admitting to hating puppies or mugging small children.

Apparently, there's some big game this weekend, and the lunchladies have gotten permission to wear their colors and State shirts and such tomorrow instead of the regular "Choose Healthy" logo shirts.

They were excitedly discussing this when I arrived this morning. Rosie from the kitchen turned an eager eye to me. "You're going to wear your State shirt tomorrow too, right?"

I blinked owlishly, less out of confusion and more from the fact there was simply no speculation in her question whatsoever as to the issue of whether I even owned such attire.

When the shocking truth of my utter lack of sports enthusiasm came to light, I was assured that Rosie would be happy to bring a shirt for me to wear tomorrow. "You have to show your spirit with us tomorrow," she twinkled. "I'd hate to see you have an unfortunate accident. Why, there might be an unexpected grease spill on the floor or something!"

After the shift was over, I headed for home, making a mental note to at least look for something in the team's colors to wear in case the shirt was forgotten tomorrow. Hey, I'm not into organized sports...but I'm a good sport. My mind wandered as the light changed to "Walk" and I headed across the intersection to my nearby home.

HOONK!!

When my heart restarted, I peered into the car I had been crossing in front of to see my supervisor Cathy in the driver's seat, doubled over with laughter and nearly in tears.

Oh, those ladies. Sometimes I think they'd fit right in with the Hell's Grannies. Better get in line before they send a violent gang of Keep Left signs after me.

(NOTE: I would like to stress that this is all in good fun, and that the Hell's Lunchladies have, in fact, never committed any acts of violence against my person. *cough*help*cough*)

The Absent-Minded Procrastinator

Folks, I apologize. After letting my blog die all summer, I laid the blame on the long break from school, my biggest source of anecdote material. Then I blamed the Move From Hell. Then, when both situations ceased to be a problem, I promptly let it die again anyway.

And I really have no excuse. I simply got out of the habit again, not just of blogging but of spending any time on the computer whatsoever. I knew it had gotten pretty bad when I logged into my instant messenger for the first time in over a month and was promptly IM'd by a friend of mine, who said "Hey, you're online....are you updating your blog??"

Well, I do love this blog and do not wish to see it die. And while I know it ain't a "blog of note" or anything, I also realize I do have a few regular readers, and so I plan to revive this thing by making more of an effort to write on a regular schedule instead of simply "when I feel like it". I'm thinking either M/W/F, with the occasional weekend post if something special happens. Or Tu/Thu/Su - which would give me two weekday posts and one to write during Duncan's chess club meetings. Which is preferable will depend on how much good material I get from the lunchlady gig and how much time I actually find during the week to write. But either way I am committing to weekly writing from now on.